


Out on a Limb

by thefilthiestpiglet



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Blood and Gore, HYDRA Trash Party, Happy Sex, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Multi, Rape/Non-con Elements, fuckpotato, hydra fucks steve nonconsensually, hydra holiday trash party, i looked at the field and said 'we need some Steve fuckpotato', it's mostly a recovery fic, steve fucks bucky consensually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:09:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21908005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefilthiestpiglet/pseuds/thefilthiestpiglet
Summary: Steve is missing and Bucky may be a half-recovered former weapon of HYDRA, but he is going to do whatever it takes to get Steve back in one piece.He doesn't quite manage the last part, but Steve's not letting that stop him, so why should Bucky?
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 23
Kudos: 90
Collections: Hydra Holiday Trash Party Gift Exchange 2019





	Out on a Limb

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sealcat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sealcat/gifts).



> For the Holiday Trash Party, one of Sealcat's desired tropes was fuckpotato, and one of her desired characters was Steve, so I hope this is okay! :)? Sealcat, thank you for being such a kind and supportive fellow trash denizen over the years!
> 
> Mind the tags -- the first bit has some HYDRA dicking in it, including some oblique mentions of blood and gore. On the other hand, the last bit has some happy sex between Steve and Bucky, although there's an element of nuanced consent there that I'll mention in the endnotes if you want deets.
> 
> A million thank-yous to [Parsnik](https://archiveofourown.org/users/parsnik) for a speedy, thorough, and extremely thoughtful beta! All remaining tense and pacing issues are mine.  
> And thank you, Trash Discord and Trash Slack, for providing a safe space for gleeful filth and enduring friendships.
> 
> Embedded artwork as usual.

They only find Steve when the live broadcast starts. Steve, blindfolded and strapped to a Saint Andrew’s cross in a dimly-lit space, surrounded by a dim mass of HYDRA goons. All the wall behind him is an ostentatious HYDRA logo, and around him are a selection of queasily familiar implements. 

Bucky feels his insides turn to ice even as his body starts moving: strapping on weapons, putting comms in his ear, and growling out, “Stark, if you can cut their transmission, do it now.”

Stark, already tapping away at a virtual keyboard, frowns. “But if I do it now, I won’t be able to get an accurate trace. Even JARVIS needs at least half a minute.”

Bucky is halfway out the common room and plotting the fastest path to the helipad. “Stark, trust me, you don’t want this being broadcast.” Bucky had needed only half a second to take in all the details — he knows the marks on Steve’s body, knows what it means, can feel it on himself. The indentations around Steve’s mouth. The cum leaking down Steve’s thighs. The bruises along Steve’s hips and shoulder and nipples. Hopefully cutting the broadcast will make them pause their activities, but in his experience, once HYDRA gets a party started, they don’t stop until they’re done. He remembers the threats of termination and pushes his body to go faster.

Stark sounds like he’s about to argue more, but then he says “Oh shit is that…” and then, with panic in his voice, “JARVIS, cut it.”

This prompts Bucky to virtually throw himself into the nearest quinjet. “Stark, where to?”

JARVIS' pleasant voice pipes up, “I wasn’t able to secure precise coordinates, Mr. Barnes, but I traced it back to a broadcasting station near Chattanooga, Tennessee.”

Bucky closes his eyes and takes slow, deep breaths, forcing his heart rate to slow from the blind panic that had carried him out into the calm steadiness of a mission — he can’t afford all of the messiness of being Bucky right now -- he needs to access memories without vomiting or shaking or losing time. He needs the Soldier.

In a crystalline calm, the Soldier quickly cross-references the available location data, the visual clues supplied by the glimpse of the broadcast, and his personal experience with the interiors of bases and the implements that could be inferred from video context. It takes a few minutes -- the Soldier has a lot of data and experience to sort through, and he was not often stateside during his tenure with HYDRA. Finally, in the memory of a meeting of HYDRA higher ups, he recalls a map of bases in the correct region and of the appropriate level of importance. The Soldier punches the coordinates into the quinjet controls and pulls it into the sky. He reports into the comm, “I know the location of the base. Estimated time of arrival: 20 minutes. Estimated time before retrieval of the Captain: 32 minutes.”

“Um… that’s good?” Stark’s voice sounds uncertain in the Soldier’s ear. “You okay there, Robocop? I’ll meet you there.”

The Soldier assesses himself. “No damage to report.” Then, he runs through the possible scenarios that he may find the Captain in, given that HYDRA will have had 32 minutes with the implements in the video. (Closer to 45 given his delay.) “Send the Widow, she is better at exfiltration. We will need you to prep the med wing and the neural scanner.”

The line is silent for a few minutes. The Soldier assumes that Stark is having any number of emotional responses which are non-conducive to mission completion. Finally, it crackles online again. “Soldier, I’m on my way. Go straight for Steve, leave the exit path and cleanup to me.” The Soldier confirms in the affirmative as he checks the flight path. 10 minutes until landing. 22 minutes until retrieval. Over the comms, he hears Stark using an endless flow of words to cover his anxiety. The Soldier checks: his own heartbeat remains an even 60 per minute. He sits and plots out the most efficient path through the base to the most likely location of the Captain. Bucky Barnes can panic and vomit and lose time later. Over the next 1300 beats of his heart, the Soldier will save the Captain.

* * *

They have already taken the Captain down from the cross when the Soldier kicks down the door. Judging by the placement of people around the Captain, they’ve had him down for at least one go-around.

His first three bullets take down the three men surrounding the Captain: the one thrusting into his ass, and the one prying open his mouth, and the one rubbing against the bloody leg stump. 

Two knives find their mark in the cameraman and the recording equipment.

Finally he shoots everyone else — the lab techs with their syringes and charts, the men in various stages of trying to pull up their pants and pull out their guns, the grunts stuck on cleaning duty. All threats eliminated. Behind him, the Soldier can hear others rushing down the hallway towards him, so he slams the door shut and barricades it. The Widow will take care of them. Here, in the room, there are an estimated five minutes where the only sound is the Captain’s breathing.

He lets out a studdering breath. Steve’s not dead.

His limbs feel heavy as he steps over the other bodies and pulls off the men who were collapsed on Steve, *in* Steve. Fuck. Bucky’s knees almost give out as he takes in the damage, and he has to brace himself against the table. Steve had passed out, and there are bite marks on his lips and the inside of cheeks, probably from trying to hold in the pain. At least it means that Steve had missed the lineup afterwards. Carefully, Bucky lays his trembling hands over Steve’s chest and takes a self-indulgent minute just feeling the slow rise and fall of Steve’s breaths, calming the part of him that's always worried about Steve breathing right. Finally, Bucky moves his hands over to check Steve’s wounds. The serum is already hard at work, stopping the bleeding and healing the skin. Bucky runs a gentle finger over the skin sealing around a severed muscle.

“It’s not your fault, James.” It's Natalia, leaning against the now-open door. Bucky closes his eyes.

“I made all the calls on this mission, Natalia. If it’s not my fault, whose is it?”

Natalia kicks one of the bodies near her. “Take your pick. I see a dozen right here and another 30 outside.”

“But if I didn’t tell Stark to cut the transmission…”

“It took all of 3 seconds for you to identify the base with the given information.” She’s standing next to him now, holding out a cleaning wipe. He takes it and starts wiping off the blood and cum on Steve’s torso.

“Stark could have gotten here faster with the suit.” And if he’d let Stark keep the broadcast on long enough to do a proper location track...

Natalia kneels down next to him, and gently wraps Steve in a blanket. “You’ll have to ask Steve about that one, but I think he’d say the same thing as me: between you and Tony, he would have picked you.”

Bucky heaves a ragged, shuddering sigh and picks Steve up, heart sinking at how light Steve is now. “Yeah, you’re right. Let’s get out of here.”

Her eyes are sad as she nods and indulges in his pretense of agreement. At the door, she even pauses and uses a tissue to wipe away the tears on his face.

* * *

By the time Steve wakes up, Bucky has managed to cobble together enough shards of his human mask that he can sit at Steve’s bedside and not pick at the scabs linking his arm to his shoulder. Focus on Steve, not at the feral thing inside him that wants to claw his arm off.

The first thing Steve tries to do is move.

“Buck?” He’s never heard Steve sound so small and scared before.

“Hey Steve.” His voice comes out steady despite the hollowness of his chest. 

Steve looks down at himself and then pointedly turns his head away from Bucky. “Bucky, they…” Steve’s shoulders twitch, as if he’s trying to hide himself, and Bucky can see the tension running along Steve’s back as he discovers that he can’t. 

Bucky speaks up before Steve can do too good a job of emotionally tucking himself away. “Stark’s working on prosthetics right now -- knowing him, he’s not going to sleep until they’re done.”

Steve nods, still looking away, but the knowledge that this is temporary seems to settle him a bit, which lets Bucky say, voice barely cracking, “You’re shorter than I remember.”

He hears Steve choke back a watery chuckle. “We met when I was five, Buck. Pretty sure you remember me being this short.”

He remembers when Steve was five, about as tall as a three-year-old and already burning up inside from the desire to prove himself. Bucky, at the age of six, had offered to help Steve climb a tree and nearly got decked for it. He can’t possibly imagine what it’s like for Steve now, trapped in a body that he can’t move. Steve’s always hated being bedridden in the winters, always hated the way strangers assume that he’s weak. To be like this and not be able to do anything about it …. Bucky catches Steve rubbing his head into his pillow and swallows. Steve is trying to wipe his face. Should Bucky do it for him? Steve’d hate that. But Steve would hate it more to have someone else walk in and see him like this.

“Steve.” He wants to lay his hand on Steve’s, but Steve doesn’t have one anymore. Yet. Instead, he moves to sit on Steve’s bed, where Steve’s legs would be. “Want me to…?” He quickly adds, “I can set you to a sitting position, would that be better?”

After a moment, Steve nods, jerkily. 

Bucky first straightens Steve up against the pillows, wordlessly turning them so that the wet spot is hidden. He presses the buttons to get Steve’s bed into a sitting position and gets a tissue and wipes up the snot and tear trails on Steve’s face, careful to only focus on the task at hand and give Steve time to gather himself. Finally, he puts the remote control for the bed under one of Steve’s leg stumps, so that he can adjust the bed for himself. A bit of Steve’s tension flows out with that, and finally Bucky dares to sneak a proper look at Steve’s face. 

There’s no trace of tears now, though his jaw looks like it’s chiseled out of granite and Steve has a faraway look on his face. Probably directing all of his focus on the prospect of getting prosthetic limbs. Bucky gently lays a hand on Steve’s shoulder, intending to reassure Steve about Stark’s progress, but instead his eyes catch on Steve’s scars instead, the places where the muscles curl in around the cut, where the bone should be but is missing.

God. The number of times that HYDRA had threatened to do this to him. "Retirement", they’d called it. Or "Decommissioning". He’d always made himself useful, coward that he was. Compliance meant killing others. Compliance meant surrendering himself. But compliance meant survival. 

Steve had refused to comply.

Bucky finds the words dry on his tongue. He can’t say “I’ve been there,” because he hasn’t. Because he’d chosen compliance. He can’t say “I’m sorry, it’s all my fault,” because he can’t start down that road, at least not yet. He can’t say “It’ll be all right,” because he doesn’t fucking know if it will be. Instead, he leans over and tries to give Steve a hug, but Steve just holds himself stiff in his arms.

Bucky jerks away and mechanically sits back down on his chair next to the bed. Thankfully, Stark chooses this time to sweep in with two robots in tow, already talking before he is in the room. “Cap, hope you are ready for the veritable smorgasbord of options that I have for you. I had quit the business, but for you, I am proud to be America’s arms dealer once again. Well, arms *and* legs.” Tony snaps his fingers and the robots roll forward, carrying what seems to be half of Tony’s lab. “C’mon, let’s get you up and running in 10 minutes.” Steve leans forward, as a wilting flower would after the rain.

* * *

It takes somewhat more than 10 minutes just for Tony to explain all the options, and Bucky sits at Steve’s side, watching the glowing desperate hope on Steve’s face dim as he realizes that there’s no quick fix, no easy way to regrow limbs. This isn’t 10 seconds of pain in a Vita Ray machine. The quickest option is the modified suit that is primarily piloted by having JARVIS extrapolate limb action based on Steve’s shoulder and hip movements. Steve shut that down quickly with an “I’m not you, Tony.” Then there’s the assistive technology version which involves straps around the torso and pneumatic pumps that simulate arm and leg muscle movement. Easy to strap on, but clunky and lacking any sort of fine motor control. Steve dismisses them right off the bat, saying, “Tony, did you just steal the Hammertech models?” 

Tony laughs. “Chill, Cap. Just showing you the range of options from perfection to utter shit, before I bring out the one you’re obviously waiting for.” He snaps his fingers and gestures at U, who opens a box with arms and limbs that, even when deconstructed into a series of wires, servos, and chrome plates, are obviously inspired by Bucky’s arm. 

Steve shoots Bucky a quick look, then asks, “Will those let me control the limbs the way Bucky does with his arm?”

“Of course!” Stark draws himself up in mock indignation. “I’ll have you know that this is the most advanced neural networking technology available. Between the scans that I got from Robocop over here and the schematics and trials I was already working on, plus a dash of a few experimental files I found on the Pentagon's servers, these things will move completely naturally.” Bucky catches another look from Steve as Stark continues. “Although there are several issues with this. One, we’d actually have to embed all these wires and support structures into you. I’m calling in the topmost experts in the field, well, in several fields. There’s gonna be at least one operation, maybe multiple, and we don’t know how your body’s going to take it. Your serum might just push everything out.”

Steve nods, then Bucky suddenly finds their eyes on him. Bucky’s throat feels dry as he says, “70 years and my body hasn’t rejected the arm yet.” He hesitates, but figures Steve should know the full truth. “It pulls at my shoulder constantly, which is what causes the scarring. And if I use it too much, it overheats. Not just in the arm, but *inside*.” He turns and gestures at the area of his back where the wires are embedded. “It also pulls at about a dozen anchor points along here, too.”

“Yeah, that’s the other thing,” Stark picks up from there. “Robocop here only has one metal arm, so it can be attached the entire time and the rest of his body can counterbalance the weight. For you, Steve-o, the weight of wearing all four 24/7 would probably tear your body apart, even with your super-juice.”

Steve gives Bucky’s arm one long, unreadable look. “But with the serum...”

Stark drops his easy facade and looks genuinely apologetic. “Sorry, Steve, it doesn’t work that way. Buckaroo here also has the serum, so that’s not really a factor. It just comes down to… well, four times the weight equals one fourth the wear time.” He gestures again at the other options. “It’s why I threw these other two together in the last 10 minutes -- they’re awkward but they don’t slowly tear you apart every moment that you’re wearing them. They also don’t require highly risky permanent alterations to your body.”

Steve laughs hollowly at that. “I already have highly risky permanent alterations done to my body. What’s a few more?” He looks at the options again, and smiles grimly. “This is the one that I can wear under my uniform and can allow me to fight with the shield.”

Stark shrugs. “Sure, I was gonna say ‘make food and have sex’, but you do you.”

“The public.” Steve’s voice is hesitant, as if he is just remembering the other ramifications of being Captain America. “They know what happened?”

Bucky had forgotten about that, too, and they both look to Stark. “No. We cut the broadcast within the first few seconds, when the bad guy was still doing some monologuing. We just issued a press release saying that you had been safely recovered from HYDRA and the base destroyed.”

Steve nods, having made his decision and confirmed it. “Let’s go with door number three.” Bucky closes his eyes. Of course Steve would choose to rip his body apart in order to preserve the image of Captain America.

“Great. I’ve already started assembling the surgery team. We’ll review all the docs and plans and hopefully get you into the operating room within 2 days.” Tony bustles about for a few more minutes taking a few measurements and brain scans before scuttling off, murmuring under his breath about experimental alloys.

In the silence that follows, Steve says simply, “It tears you apart every moment that you’re wearing it, huh?”

Bucky can only nod. “Only the left shoulder, and slower than my serum heals.”

Steve lets out a ragged breath and sags into the bed, drained of energy now that Tony’s left. “Well, pretty sure this beats out rheumatic fever,” he says to no one in particular.

Bucky remembers that winter -- Steve was 12 and Bucky spent every non-school moment at his bedside, reading books, telling stories from school and making up new ones when those ran out, all to distract Steve from the pain. The punk had refused to let on how much pain he was in back then, too. Bucky pours a cup of water and slowly tips it into Steve’s mouth, watching Steve’s throat work. After he drinks his fill, Bucky asks, “Want anything else, Steve?”

“I want a lot of things.” Steve tips his head back to gaze at the ceiling, and Bucky counts the number of times Steve swallows down all the things that he won’t ever say.

Bucky tries to remember the sort of thing he used to say when Steve was like this. “Well, take your time, cause I’m not going anywhere.”

Steve sits upright. “You’re staying?” The surprise and hope in Steve’s voice feel like a punch to the gut. Sure, Bucky has kept his distance over the past year, tried to give Steve space to live his fully human life, but he’s still been there when Steve needed him, has he not? Steve's current face says otherwise. Short on words again, Bucky reaches over to Steve’s shoulder and squeezes, and sees a small smile from Steve in return. “Of course, pal. Anything to help you.”

“Speaking of which,” and it’s an attestment to Steve’s improving mood that he turns on Bucky, “You let Tony scan your arm?”

Oh, that. Bucky picks at a stray thread on his jeans. “Mostly the neural connections.” It hurt almost as much as it did when the Soviets grafted the arm in, but Stark got a lot of great data from it.

“But Buck, you …” Steve moves to say something, but then clamps his mouth shut. Steve knows how much Bucky hates being a lab rat. Finally, Steve says, simply, “Thank you, Bucky.” Steve’s torso twitches. After a moment, he says with frustration, “I want to hug you but I can’t.”

Well, there’s something Bucky can do about that. This time, Steve practically collapses into the hug. 

* * *

They let him stay in the room during the operation, which translates to staring at all the numbers flowing past on the monitors as Tony and a whole surgical team does the work of limb integration. 

Since the limbs have to be removable, the actual installation is a ring around each of Steve’s shoulders and thighs, which are then hooked into Steve’s spine and anchored to Steve’s rib cage and pelvis with a mass of wires and and screws.

Watching Steve’s body opened up and all those screws and wires laid into his body, Bucky can feel the grinding pain of every anchor point, the sparking pain as every neuron connection activated. He knows it’s painless for Steve — Stark is not HYDRA — but he can’t stop his body from remembering the cold table in Siberia where they opened him up and attached and re-attached wires based on how he screamed. Bucky sits in the corner of the room and tries to stop himself from digging at the scars on his shoulder.

Finally, they close Steve back up and then attach the rings — each a fancy silver alloy with the standard Stark polish that he seems to give to every one of his creations. With Steve unconscious and the rings locked in, it feels like Steve has been reduced to a body bracketed by metal. But at least this part is done.

On the way out of the operating room, Tony offers to make Bucky’s arm lighter with the new technology that he’s developed. Bucky manages to bite out an “I’m fine, thanks.” Later, he ducks into a supply closet, digs his fingers into his shoulder, and gives himself five minutes to fall apart. 

* * *

Bucky had spent a full year just getting used to not waking up on a lab table and wondering who he was and what had been done to him. Steve, thankfully, comes out of anesthesia with none of that confusion and immediately demands to try out the new limbs.

The limbs are beautiful, a blend of Stark's penchant for smooth chrome plating and the smaller segmentation of Bucky's arm for finer movement. Stark has done an amazing job in making them easy to snap on and control -- they even fly over to attach automatically if Steve makes a particular whistling sound. Steve’s eyes glow with a simple joy as he sits in the hospital bed, testing out arm and leg movements.

And then Steve stands up and tries to walk. Bucky watches Steve’s jaw snap shut and color drain from his face. The plates flex ominously as he tries to get a handle on the full weight of all four limbs. Steve grits his teeth and takes a step. Then another. Stark and a whole team of doctors are in the room, so Bucky forces himself to stay sitting. He keeps his eyes glued to Steve’s back, where under the healed, blemish-free skin, he knows that wires and anchor points are being pulled for the first time. When Steve makes it to the bathroom, everyone else in the room cheers.

Bucky counts. It takes five minutes before Steve comes back out with his Captain America face on and thanks everyone for their work.

* * *

That first time, Steve could only wear the limbs for 30 minutes. Within a week, Steve has expanded that to 4 hours, and convinces Stark that he can be released from the medical wing. Stark, of course, turns it into a sending off party of clapping doctors and nurses with noisemakers. 

Bucky stands by the elevator, watching Steve bid farewell to Stark and stride down the hall with ease and confidence in his new limbs, tracking the minute tremors in Steve’s legs as he gets farther from the crowd. He follows Steve into the elevator, and they stand in silence as JARVIS carries them to Steve's floor. Steve manages to hold it together until he steps off the elevator.

Bucky catches Steve as his steps falter, and carries Steve to the couch. Steve smiles in relief, “Thanks, Buck.”

Bucky grunts and goes into the kitchen to start some tea. “You should take them off for the night. I can take care of dinner and breakfast.”

“Wait.” Steve finally registers Bucky’s heavy duffle bag on the floor by the elevator, and a look of surprise crosses his face. “You’re staying the night?”

Bucky blinks. He thought it would be a given, had spent so much time figuring out the logistics of upgrading Steve’s suite that it didn’t cross his mind that Steve might not want him there. “You only have 4 hours with those things. I just figured… it’s easier this way.” Bucky swallows.

At Steve's silence, Bucky turns off the water and goes to pick up his duffle bag. “I’m sorry. I’ll be close by. Text if you need anything.” Maybe he can sleep in the elevator shaft. Triple check whatever Stark’s bots bring to Steve.

A leg lands on Bucky’s duffle. “No, stay.” Steve’s face has a strange flush as he gestures at the guest room. “Stay as long as you want. I ... It’d be nice, to have you around again.”

The look on Steve’s face makes Bucky’s heart stutter. Suddenly it feels like 1935, standing outside on the landing to Steve's door. “Yeah? I think you just want me around to polish your shoes and sleep on your couch cushions.” For a moment, Bucky worries that Steve doesn’t get the reference, doesn’t remember that day as clearly as he does. Then Steve’s face splits into a shit-eating grin and all the tension between them dissipates. 

“How about you start with that tea, first.”

“Sure thing, punk.” Bucky drops the duffle and moves to check on the tea while Steve disengages all of his limbs.

* * *

It’s like they’re living out of each other’s pockets again. Bucky goes to every PT session, and, when Steve gets enough limb control, every gym sparring session. Steve throws himself into everything, and by the end of a month, he has enough fine motor control to catch a shield in midair. The next day, Steve turns on the skin holograms embedded into the rings on his shoulder, puts on his suit, and makes a public appearance. He exudes calm and confidence as he answers media questions about his recovery from HYDRA capture. No, HYDRA didn't do any significant damage during his captivity. Yes, he is combat ready again. The online rumors are wrong: HYDRA didn't win and won't win. On camera, Steve's movements are smooth and polished, carrying himself as if nothing has changed from before.

Then he comes home and collapses on the couch, and Bucky is there, too. No matter how much Steve grits his teeth, the most that he can use the limbs is 8 hours a day, so Steve usually has them off at home. Bucky takes charge of Steve’s meals and down time. They watch movies on the couch or read books. Sometimes they play games, with Bucky acting as Steve’s hands. He’s spent more time with Steve in the past month than in the previous year, and sometimes it almost feels like they are 12 and 13 again — before Steve lost his ma and Bucky’s parents lost their shop, before they admitted their love for each other on the eve of war, before they both woke up 70 years later as different people. 

It’s always given Bucky a thrill, that he gets to see the Steve that no one else gets to see. When they were young, he got to see Steve the artist, Steve the little punk with a chip on his shoulder. When they got older, he got to see all of Steve’s fight melt out of him in their shared moments of intimacy. During the war, he got to see the Steve behind all the muscle and bravado. And now, he gets to see Steve exhausted and limbless after a long day.

One of his favorite rituals is pulling Steve down onto the bed and massaging lotion into his scars and bruises. Steve’s scars are like Bucky’s -- around the rings where the limbs pull at the flesh. But they’re also around each of Steve’s stumps, where repeated compression from wearing the limbs has been slowly changing their shape. Steve spends the day being, if not Captain America, at least the Steve Rogers that the Avengers have come to expect. But here, on his bed, in the thin tank top that he wears at home, Steve melts under Bucky’s hands. As Bucky slowly works out every knot in Steve’s back, Steve tells him about his meetings, vents his frustrations, and babbles about cute dogs he saw on his morning run. Steve smiles and arches up into Bucky’s touch, loose and happy and trusting.

Bucky knows that this won’t last, but he is selfish — if Steve doesn’t want to talk about what HYDRA or Bucky did, Bucky is all too happy not to.

* * *

One evening, after Bucky has fed Steve some dinner, they settle in to do some reading. Steve wants to read some book about rural America, so Bucky sits Steve in his lap, and turns the page when Steve twitches his right shoulder, all while he reading his own book with his left hand.

Bucky is deep in the middle of a tense space battle when he feels Steve gently nudge Bucky’s arm. Bucky puts his arm down and closes both books (Steve was on page 242, he was on 196). “What’s up?”

Steve murmurs, “Need to piss,” then starts butt-scooting down the length of the bed.

When Steve first started, Bucky had carried Steve to the bathroom each time, but it took all of a day before Steve insisted on doing it himself. It's meant that Steve can't wear underwear when he's limbless, but after some initial awkwardness, Steve's stopped feeling self conscious -- as long as Bucky doesn't draw attention to it.

Which is why Bucky has to sit there and pretend to read as Steve scoots awkwardly towards the bedside potty chair that Stark rigged together. The chair is thankfully level with the bed itself, since Steve can’t manage even small heights in this state. After he does his business, there’s a button that he presses with one of his leg stubs to do the bidet, and then Steve starts scooting his way back, inch by inch. His right leg stump trips on the edge of the bed and Steve ends up falling on all fours. Bucky pretends to not notice and turns the page in his book as Steve’s head shoots up, red-faced. After a moment to gather himself, Steve wriggles his way back into place — he’s faster on all fours, but getting back upright is a challenge. Bucky subtly shifts his arm to an angle that Steve can use to lever himself back up.

Steve tosses his head and his shoulder twitches as if he wants to smooth his hair. He then says blandly, as if what used to be a simple mindless piss didn’t just make him short of breath from the effort, “All right, I was on page 242.” 

Bucky picks up the book again, but just before he starts reading, Steve says, quietly, “Thanks for all you’ve done this month, Bucky.”

Bucky blinks in surprise. All he’d done was what he should have, why would Steve need to thank him? Steve must misread Bucky’s expression, because he squares his jaw and says, “I know it’s been a lot. Once I figure out how to do more things myself, you won’t have to spend so much time helping me.” Steve carefully keeps his eyes trained on his book. “You probably want to move back to your place.”

Bucky feels his heart still. Even now, Steve expects that Bucky will leave, expects to manage everything alone in his apartment. Fuck, Steve is *grateful* that Bucky's stuck around. The creature inside him that he’s kept locked up since the mission rears its head and he blurts out, “It’s my fault.”

“What?” Steve stops reading and turns to Bucky with a confused frown.

“They had you for 3 days. And then after they started the broadcast…” Bucky swallows, and pushes forward. “I made the call for Tony to stop the broadcast before they pinpointed the location. If I let Tony run point, he could have gotten there earlier. Maybe you’d still have…”

“No.” Steve shakes his head firmly. “None of this is your fault. It’s all on them, Buck. They’re the sadistic assholes who did all this, not you.”

Whatever Steve sees on Bucky’s face makes him sigh. “Look, ten, twenty minutes wouldn’t have made a difference— maybe one or two fewer cocks going where they’re not welcome but that hardly matters.”

Intellectually, Bucky can see how Steve has reached that conclusion. How Steve's considered the facts of his capture and decided that it was just another bad day at work. It doesn’t change the feeling that it is his fault. That Steve's body didn't survive HYDRA.

“But it does matter when you’re…” Bucky gestures at the whole of Steve, all 40 pounds of him.

Steve lifts an eyebrow. “When I’m stuck like this, like some sort of grub? A sack of potatoes?” Bucky nods dumbly.

Steve flops against Bucky and lets out a small sigh. “I wasn’t fine, at first. Kept re-running it in my head, coming up with ways it could have ended differently. That first week -- I felt more trapped and helpless than anything else I’ve lived through -- more than waiting for death in the polar ice sheets, more than HYDRA sedating me and having their way, more than losing my job a week after ma passed.” Bucky gently runs his hand along Steve’s neck and shoulders until the tension of memory passes from Steve's body. After a pause, Steve continues, “But now? I can still do the stuff I used to do, I can be Captain America for eight hours a day." Steve turns to Bucky with a wry smile. "You know me, I’ve always been a socialist, and it seems like my limbs have formed a union with guaranteed work hours.” Bucky can't help chuckling at that, and Steve smiles. “And the best thing is, the rest of the time, I get to be with you.” 

Bucky massages Steve's shoulders, wordlessly affirming that he's sticking around, and he feels Steve relax into his touch in response. But the creature in Bucky’s chest is not yet satisfied. “Do you still think about what could-have-been? If me or Tony had gotten there earlier…”

Steve shrugs. “I asked JARVIS for the mission report. If our roles were switched, I would have made the same call. HYDRA wanted to sow fear, and shutting down the broadcast stopped that. It meant they didn’t destroy Captain America. It reduced HYDRA down to a dozen sadists with a hacksaw.”

Bucky can’t figure out how to say it— the feeling that his hands were the ones wielding the hacksaw, breaking Steve down to pieces, even as he felt every single one of Steve’s aches and pains in his own body. Hell, he’s been on both sides of HYDRA, the loyal fist and the mindless fucktoy. He had given HYDRA his compliance, and therefore his consent, and …. “If I hadn’t made it so easy for them to use me, they wouldn’t have done it to you.” It feels like the words are being pulled out of his chest where they have dwelled for so long.

“You don’t know that, Bucky.” Steve says softly.

“The mag cuffs they used to lock you down, the sedative they used to keep your limbs weak, the …” Bucky wants to keep going: the belief that people could be controlled, the knowledge of exactly how much physical damage a super soldier can endure and heal from, the expectation that a captive supersoldier is a convenient fuckhole… Bucky shoves his hand into his mouth, not sure whether he’s trying to keep the words in or pull the words out.

Finally, Steve speaks into the silence, “They kept teasing me about all the things they used to make you do.”

Bucky can only nod. There’s no hiding this from Steve, now that he’s lived it, survived through worse.

“You do realize that … if they had to keep you in line with sedatives and mag cuffs and the Chair, that meant you were fighting back, right? You didn’t make it easy for them.”

Bucky shakes his head. “But I still did it. And let them do it to me.” Even he can hear the disgust in his own voice. He’d groveled. Spread himself on command. Killed whomever they pointed him at. Raped and tortured others. He’d done everything.

“Is that why you never wanted to, after?” Steve’s lips twist, bitter for the first time tonight. “I mean, before…” Steve looks down at what’s left of himself, and Bucky feels like curling into a ball and hiding in a corner. Steve had asked him, before, whether he wanted to pick up from where they’d left off in their relationship. At the time, he jumped out the nearest window and ran until he was too tired to remember what he was running from. It takes all of his energy to stay, this time. He grips himself tightly against the urge to run and braces himself against the wall, and nods again.

After another moment, Steve sighs and makes a futile gesture with his shoulders. “All I’ve wanted to do since I found out you were alive is to hold you and kiss you. But first you were getting your memories back, and then you moved away and only showed up for missions, and now…” Steve’s head sags. “I can’t.”

Steve’s arm stubs twitch uselessly at his shoulders. “I mean, I get it. I finally understand why you stayed away.” Steve’s voice is so quiet, Bucky has to strain to hear. “It doesn’t stop me from wanting it, though.”

Bucky finds himself moving. Climbing back onto the bed next to Steve and leaning in close, so close that he can feel the heat from Steve’s skin on his own. He owes Steve so much, but maybe in this, he can make it right. If Steve wants him, it’s something he can offer. Has already given. His voice comes out as a low rasp. “Steve. You still can.”

Slowly, Steve lifts one of his shoulder stumps and gently touches Bucky’s face, up the line of his cheek to rest along Bucky's temple. Bucky turns and kisses that stub of muscle and flesh, and the tremoring inside him stills. He can do this. Bucky tilts his face towards Steve and Steve lifts his head to meet him, and suddenly they are kissing for the first time since 1945.

Steve kisses like a firestorm, burning away all of Bucky’s doubts. He’d worried that being so close to Steve would burn up whatever sense of self Bucky has been cobbling together. He’d worried that Steve would see right through him and find him too different, too cowardly, too tainted. But it turns out that Steve doesn’t care. It’s like a dam that breaks open inside of Bucky, and he can’t help a giddy laugh as he leans back into the kiss.

They break long enough for Bucky to pull Steve on top of him, and Steve goes at Bucky as if he’s been starving for the feel of Bucky’s skin. Steve kisses a line along Bucky’s clavicle, then scooches down to tease Bucky’s nipple and rub against Bucky’s dick.

Bucky’s dick takes notice of the attention and Steve breaks into a devious grin. It takes a bit more wiggling for Steve, aided by Bucky opening and slanting his legs in a way that allows Steve to slide down between Bucky’s thighs and suck Bucky’s cock.

It feels amazing. Steve is still all enthusiasm and zero technique, the same he’s always been since 1936, and if Bucky puts his hand in Steve’s hair and closes his eyes, it’s almost as if they are back in that drafty single room, trying to keep quiet between the thin walls. Bucky moans and after a few more minutes of sloppy sucking, Steve breaks off with a loud smack of his lips. Bucky looks down, transfixed at the look of fierce joy on Steve’s face. He hasn’t seen that since… hell, since the war started.

“Enjoyed that, huh?” Even Bucky’s voice is coming out soft and rounded on the edges.

Steve nods and nuzzles Bucky’s cock. “Missed this. Missed doing this.” He rests his head on Bucky’s stomach. “Glad I can still do it.”

Bucky tugs Steve up his chest to kiss him properly, enjoying the taste of his own precome in Steve’s mouth. “Wanna keep going?” Steve nods, so Bucky strokes Steve’s hair and asks, “What do you have in mind?”

Steve hums into Bucky’s neck. “Wanna fuck you. Then you fuck me.” 

Bucky’s known Steve long enough to hear the challenge in those words. This is Steve staring HYDRA in the face and saying “no, you move.” This is Steve sitting beside him in that bar in London, asking “you coming with me?” And now, just as then, Bucky knows that Steve will back off if he asks. He could point out that he doesn’t quite remember how consensual sex works, or that maybe Steve shouldn’t try to do any of this without first talking to a professional about what HYDRA did to him, or maybe they just need to take it slow. But with Steve’s kiss still lingering on his lips, Bucky, then as now, follows Steve into the firestorm.

Bucky smirks and drawls, “Want to fuck me first, eh?” He turns over so that Steve is on his back, and brackets him with his arms. “Always knew you were the lazy one.” 

Steve chuckles and wiggles his hips so that his cock bounces enticingly. “Well, then. What are you waiting for?”

Bucky licks his lips, then bends down and gives Steve’s cock a long, slow lick. Steve whines and cants his hips upward. “Please, Bucky. I want…”

Bucky grins. “Patience, Stevie.” With that, he takes Steve to the base of his cock in one easy gulp, then moves to squeeze Steve’s balls. Steve moans in pleasure and starts thrusting his cock into Bucky’s mouth, easy as he’s always been. Steve’s cock has always tasted like his, musty and heavy, with a hint of sourness from his pre-serum days. Bucky carefully licks and milks it, keeping a close eye on Steve’s arousal, and pulls off just as Steve is getting close. Steve whines and pants, “Bucky…. I need to be inside…”

Bucky laughs and climbs on top. “Ready?”

Steve’s eyes are dark with lust. “Yes. C’mon.” 

Slowly, Bucky lowers himself onto Steve’s cock, inch by inch, until Steve is finally fully inside him. It’s one of the few benefits of getting constantly used by HYDRA — his hole knows how to relax, how to grip. Bucky takes a moment once he’s fully seated on Steve’s cock to ground himself. He is full of Steve and looking down at Steve’s glazed and unfocused face. This isn’t some HYDRA captain that he has to please, this is Steve. 

With a nod from Steve, Bucky starts to move. In a few seconds, however, Steve frowns, and Bucky pauses instantly. “What is it?”

Steve quirks his lips apologetically. “I… I wanna actually *fuck* you.” And to emphasize his point he thrusts his pelvis a bit.

“Hmm….” Bucky pulls off and ponders the logistics. Compared to pissing, fucking is actually easier for Steve. “Let’s try something.”

He gets onto his back and folds up his legs, then pulls Steve up so that Steve’s shoulders are resting against Bucky’s legs, the rings on a pivot point on his shins. “Good so far?” Steve puts some weight on Bucky’s legs and nods. “All right.” Slowly, Bucky guides Steve’s cock back into place. “Think you can take it from here?”

Steve makes a few experimental thrusts, and soon he finds the proper leverage to start fucking Bucky properly. The motion is slightly different from the norm, since the center of motion is at Steve’s shoulders and not the knees, but it’s a good reminder that this isn’t HYDRA. Each thrust sends sparks of pleasure through Bucky’s body, and Bucky gives himself permission to want this, to pull at his own cock in time with Steve’s thrusts. He tries to remember what it felt like before, when it was just him and Steve in a rickety bed. As his own pleasure mounts, he keeps an eye on Steve. When Steve’s rhythm grows more erratic and he bites his tongue in the way he’s done since the 1930s, Bucky speeds up and soon he’s coming in spurts all over. Steve gives a few final thrusts and then comes, too.

Through the haze of pleasure, he feels Steve flopping down onto Bucky’s chest. “Thanks, Bucky,” Steve sounds completely at peace for once. “That was amazing.” 

Bucky yawns and pulls a blanket to cover them, but Steve shifts in protest. “Wait, you didn’t get to fuck me, yet.”

“M’tired. Next time?” He’s done enough of banishing HYDRA’s ghosts today.

“Mmmm.” Steve makes a pliant mumble, then gently bonks one of his arm stumps against Bucky. “That makes you the lazy one.” With a chuckle, Steve resettles against Bucky, his body a warm weight on Bucky’s chest. 

Bucky runs his hands along Steve’s back, feeling the rings and the embedded wires. This is Steve, he is real and here and full of life. They're not short on nightmares and scars and bad days, but finally, despite what HYDRA has done to them, they are together.

**Author's Note:**

> The deets about the nuanced consent:  
> When Steve and Bucky are having sex, Bucky has to put effort into grounding himself and not flashing back to HYDRA or treating sex as a task. There's a sense that some of what he's doing is more for Steve's benefit than his own, which in part comes from the fact that all of his HYDRA experiences with this has been mechanical and for others' benefit. That said, Bucky (a) actively wants to both pleasure Steve, and confront his own demons, (b) knows that he can stop anytime and is mindful of his own needs, and (c) does end up enjoying the sex for his own sake.


End file.
